tell you that yesterday I had a little shopping to do at the Louvre.
The Count proposed to accompany me. I accepted with joy, and we set
off. But just as we arrived at the door of the shops his heart failed
him, he hesitated. 'After all, my dear,' he said to me, 'I will not go
in, I will come and fetch you. Do you think you will be long getting
what you want?' 'I don't know, two hours perhaps; what are you going
to do all that while?' 'Don't trouble about me, I shall be here at
five o'clock exactly ... do not keep me waiting.' A _rendez-vous_ with
my husband is something sacred; I have never yet kept him waiting. Men
always hate to be kept waiting, military men especially, it makes them
horribly ill-tempered. So at five o'clock I came out and found my
gallant husband at the door. 'Where have you been?' I asked him. 'Oh,
I have been strolling about dear.' He looked a little bit mysterious;
I immediately guessed that he had been up to mischief. Between you and
me, men are not very clever you know in hiding their secrets. The
Count betrays his like a child. His eyes publish them immediately: you
can read there as in an open book. He did not attempt to defend
himself long. Monsieur had been strolling in the galleries of the
Palais Royal and had bought me the ring that you see: the diamonds are
worth at least a hundred pounds. Now I ask you, my dear Lady B., if
after that one dare trust one's husband out of sight an instant?... It
did not prevent his having a good kiss when he reached home though, I
can assure you. Heaven knows how near I was to giving it to him in the
_Place du Palais Royal_."
_Lady B._--"How delightful it is to hear you talk like that; it does
one good (_looking at her embroidery_). This cap is horrible ... just
do look at that blue and green: ... do they not clash?"
_La Comtesse._--"Take my advice, and put it aside. Embroider a
cigar-case for Lord B. I did a beauty for the Count: his initials and
coronet in dark blue on a pearl grey ground...."
_Lady B._--"That is a good idea.--(_Drawing nearer the
Countess._)--Has the Count ever taken you to a _cabinet particulier_?"
_La Comtesse._--"Many times."
_Lady B._--"Lord B. says a man cannot take his wife to a _cabinet
particulier_."
_La Comtesse._--"My dear, you are not forced to exhibit your marriage
certificate to the waiter. The Count considers that a lady can go
anywhere with her husband, and, for my part, I don't see why all the
nice places should be reserved for certain characters, and the honest
women have to content themselves with the Bouillons-Duval. Those are
my ideas, you know."
_Lady B._--"They are mine, too, to a certain extent, but I fear
that...."
_La Comtesse._--"I fear, _ma belle_, that your husband respects you a
little too much. I don't dislike the Count's making me ... blush ...
sometimes."
_Lady B._--"Oh! Lord B. would never do that.... It is I that have
made him blush several times."
_La Comtesse._--"Yes? You are charming. Tell me all about it!"
_Lady B._--"That would be very hard."
_La Comtesse._--"Do send me your husband's photograph. I should so
like to have in my album the portrait of an English lord who blushes
when his wife shocks him."
_Lady B._--"By the bye, you have not told me what a _cabinet
particulier_ is like."
_La Comtesse._--"Oh! they are nothing very wonderful: little rooms
coquettishly furnished ... all the pleasure is in the novelty, the
strangeness of the thing; ... it is droll to disguise oneself as ...
the mistress of one's own husband."
_Lady B._--"Oh! do tell me more about it."
_La Comtesse._--"You want me to shock you, then?"
_Lady B._--"All women enjoy being shocked ... a little, you know ...
not too much."
_La Comtesse._--"Well, then, dear--it was nearly ten years ago--I was
at a ball with my husband. About one o'clock in the morning, I had
just been waltzing with him, we saw there was going to be no supper
... and we were getting as hungry as wolves.
"'I say, darling,' said the Count to me, 'I am terribly hungry; don't
you think it is time to go home?'
"'But, my dear, we shall find nothing to eat at home.'
"'No?--never mind, we will find a way out of that difficulty pretty
soon; we are _en carnaval_; we will go and sup at the _Maison Dorée_.'
"No sooner said than done; we left the ball-room, jumped into the
brougham, and in a few minutes we were ... in a _cabinet particulier_.
The Count had a little sardonic, triumphant expression, that made me
feel a little uneasy, but what was to be done? I tried to look as
dignified as possible, when the waiter came in to receive his orders.
With his wife, a man does not commit great extravagances: the Count
ordered oysters, a lobster salad, some cold chicken, ices, and a
bottle of iced champagne. I had never seen my husband so gay, so
bright, so witty.... Oh! how lovely it is to be adored by one's
husband!... At dessert the Count became somewhat enterprising ... I
mean very enterprising! Fortunately the waiter came in...."
_Lady B._--"Without knocking?"
_La Comtesse._--"Without knocking; they are accustomed to it.... They
see such things, you know."
_Lady B._--"It must be high fun for them."
_La Comtesse._--"Not at all ... habit, you see ... they would much
rather be in bed, I can assure you. Well, as I was telling you, the
waiter came in for my husband's orders. 'Waiter,' said he, 'you can go
now. Bring some coffee ... when I ring.' The waiter bowed and retired.
You should have seen with what ease the Count gave him this order....
Oh! you know, it was easy to see he had had ... a little experience
... it was not the first time he had supped in a _cabinet
particulier_."
_Lady B._ (_seriously_).--"How can you suppose such things?"
_La Comtesse._--"How can I? (_kissing her._) Dear child, how
refreshing you are! However, what is perfectly certain is that,
although rather light-headed with the two glasses of champagne that
the Count had poured out for me, I saw quite clearly that he was
locking the door."
_Lady B._--"Oh! I should have screamed."
_La Comtesse._--"I had a great mind to; but what was the good? No law
protects a woman from her husband; you know that. We have no Woman's
Protection Society in France yet; _you_ have, you see.... I had risen
indeed, but the Count had seized me in his arms.... By the way, don't
you think there is something curiously fascinating in the idea of a
woman in the strong arms of the man she loves and who adores her ...
as they stand, she helpless, almost _perdue_ ... _perdue_ in the arms
of your husband, it is not dangerous ... _on se retrouve_, you know
... he, holding her up, and gazing into her face with eyes that seem
to devour her...."
_Lady B._--"Don't talk about it."
_La Comtesse._--"Then...."
_Lady B._--"Call the waiter, and let us have the coffee, my dear
Comtesse: it is high time."
_La Comtesse._--"I will do something better than that: I will give you
a cup of tea ... _à l'anglaise_." (_She rings._)
XVII.
The Teetotal Mania--Second Epistle to John Bull--The darling Sin of
Mrs. John Bull, according to a venerable Archdeacon and a few
charitable Ladies--A free-born Briton, Member of the Yellow Ribbon
Army.
The Blue Ribbon Army numbers at the present time more than 600,000
soldiers, it is said. A little patience, and the water drinkers will
soon be as numerous as the drunkards. What spectacles of eccentric
contrasts! Picture to yourself children, urchins of three or four
years old, decorated with the blue ribbon; men and women persuaded
into pledging themselves in writing that they will never touch wine,
beer, or any other alcoholic drink. What folly! and, at the same time,
what a confession of weakness! Is it not, in fact, asking them to sign
that, since they do not know how to stop when they have quenched their
thirst, they will swear to touch no drink whatever? And you, John, my
friend, you are satisfied with this progress; you rub your hands with
pleasure and admiration; you are going to close your taverns, and
forbid your grocers to sell wines, beer, and spirits: are you simple
enough to imagine that a people is to be made virtuous by Act of
Parliament? Your parsons and old maids, who know that about a hundred
million pounds sterling is annually spent upon alcohol, move heaven
and earth to divert this golden stream into the coffers of the Church,
to take it out of the devil's clutches and give it _to God_; and you
take all they say for Gospel, without perceiving that you are simply
working for a few shrewd speculators, who are delighted to have an
opportunity of trading upon your pretensions to virtue, in order to
cover themselves with both profit and honour.
Do you remember, for instance, that a little while ago, the Gospel
Temperance Society of Edinburgh was hard up, because it had to pay a
hundred pounds sterling to a gentleman who, during a whole month, had
talked himself hoarse in trying to prove to the inhabitants of Auld
Reekie that, if they would ensure their welfare in this world ... and
the next, they must drink nothing but water, and that the said Society
had also to pay the hotel bill of this good apostle, a bill that
amounted to £52 13s.? By Jove! More than fifty-two pounds for a
month's board and lodging! Water is expensive in Edinburgh!
Do you not think that your working classes would look much healthier,
if instead of weak tea and bread more or less buttered, you made them
breakfast off good soup, or even drink a glass of sound home-brewed
ale? It is not total abstinence, but moderation, that should be
preached: moderation,[7] a word that seems to be fast dying out of
your vocabulary. It is not wine, but vice, that makes the drunkard,
says the Chinese proverb; it is not the wine or the beer then, but the
vice, that it should be your effort to suppress.
[7] _Temperance_ means _moderation_ (_temperare_), and not
_total abstinence_.
_In medio veritas et virtus_; but the motto of your island unhappily
seems to be _In extremis dementia_. Your arms carry too far, and you
kill nothing.
All those insensate doctrines make a few fanatics and hypocrites, but
comparatively few serious proselytes, and, moreover, they tend to
produce the most violent reactions. Besides, do not forget that your
tea which you swallow in such quantities, your lemonade, and all the
tribe of artificial and teetotal drinks, have made you bilious, old
fellow; yes, bilious, dyspeptic, hypochondriac, morose, and crabbed;
and you ought to know that no Divine law forbids us to enjoy the good
things that Providence has strewn around us for our use, though the
law of Nature does teach us to use them with discretion.
You laugh at us because, when we are at table with our family, we do
not scruple to cover our chest with our _serviette_; you are much
amused at our commercial travellers, who, at a _table d'hôte_, bravely
tie it around their necks, and set to work as if they meant to do
serious execution, and you exclaim, "What gluttons! How they eat!"
But you are a little bit jealous, dear boy, that is all. Yes, at
table, we set aside our cares, we are happy, we talk and laugh with
our wives and children, and make the pleasure last as long as we can.
And if we have found the secret of happiness and gaiety, we inspire
more envy than pity, believe me; and if you had not ruined your
digestion with your tea and other unhealthy slops, if you were to
forget a little of your insular dignity while you are at table, and
make a little progress in your cookery, you would probably find that,
after all, gaiety is an excellent thing, even if it should come from a
good digestion.
I know very well you will reply that your only aim in this world is to
secure your salvation in the next. I know this takes up a great deal
of your time; but as it does not prevent your taking a great interest
in your banking account, and a thousand other little mundane matters,
I conclude that, if you, like ourselves, hope to reach paradise one
day, like ourselves also, you are not in a hurry to set out. Really,
_do_ leave us alone with your tea, cocoa, and other salvation potions.
Drink water, if it suits your taste; for England is a free country.
But for goodness' sake, let other people drink what they like.
Anyhow, take care: do not overshoot your mark. Drunkenness no longer
exists in a deep-rooted, hideous form, except among the lower classes
of your great towns, and this is a much better state of things than
existed when Members of Parliament were called to order for putting
their feet on the table in front of the Speaker. And it should be
added that, thanks to education, even your lower classes are becoming
more sober. As for asking for an Act of Parliament, to prevent
peaceful citizens from going to buy a bottle of cognac of their
grocer, it is utter folly.
Finally, John, remember that one of your bishops, not long ago,
refused to sign a similar petition to the House of Commons, saying
that he had rather belong to a nation of drunkards than a nation of
slaves.
It was in the coquettish town of Torquay, in the month of March,
1884.
I was present at an immense _tea-and-bread-and-butter-meeting_, held
under the auspices of the Temperance Society, and presided over by a
venerable archdeacon. As I looked around me at the long Lenten-looking
faces, silent and damned, to use the energetic expression of the poet
Shelley, swallowing their tea in little sips, and nibbling their bread
and butter with their eyes lifted heavenward, I thought to myself:
Yes, I have said and will maintain it: nothing is more beautiful,
nothing is more edifying, than to contemplate John as he imbibes this
angelical beverage.
I had duly partaken of a slice of bread and butter, and swallowed my
two cups of tea, as stoically as any of the members of this edifying
congregation, when an old maid, sitting next me, who, since the
proceedings began had not opened her mouth, except to yawn at regular
intervals like a machine, ventured to break the solemn silence:
"Oh! sir," she said, addressing me, "what a grand meeting this is!
Ours is a glorious cause!"
----"I do not doubt it, madam," I replied. "When this interesting tea
party is over, there is to be an address, I believe?"
----"Yes; Archdeacon ... will say a few words."
----"What is the object of this meeting? The closing of public-houses
on Sundays, I presume?"
----"Oh, dear no! we want to do something better than that. The
public-house is not the greatest evil we have to fight against. We
want to send a petition to Parliament to get the law repealed that
allows grocers and pastrycooks to sell wine, beer, and spirits."
----"Really!" I exclaimed.
----"Yes, the public-house is only frequented by the lower classes;
their sphere of action is, therefore, limited; but drunkenness among
the women of the middle classes is greatly on the increase. Under
pretence of buying a cake at the confectioner's, they enter the shop
with the intention of drinking wine; under the pretext of sending
their servants to buy groceries, they send for brandy, and get tipsy
at home. So we have said to ourselves: The confectioner and the grocer
are the enemies we have to fight."
----"I am afraid you calumniate your countrywomen," I suggested.
----"It is the sad truth; you will hear the Archdeacon presently: he
has terrible tales to tell. Yes, sir, the grocers do more harm to our
cause than the publicans. It was Mr. Gladstone that granted the
grocers their licences, because it is well known that most grocers are
Liberals."
----"I see," I said to my neighbour. "And as the publicans are
Conservatives, you would like them to enjoy the monopoly of the sale
of alcoholic poisons. It is a little electoral manoeuvre. Excuse me if
I do not quite appreciate your philanthropical sentiments. But I see
that the company is rising to go to the meeting; I will do myself the
pleasure of going to hear what the Archdeacon has to say."
The proceedings began with prayer and the singing of the hymn, "Rescue
the perishing."
When the hymn was finished, the venerable Archdeacon who presided
rose, and began to deliver his address, from which I give you the
following passages:--
"Over and over again, we have had it in evidence that the secret
drinking of the home has been traceable, not to habits picked up in
the public-house, but rather to the means of intoxication supplied
through the grocer's shop. Of this there is not the slightest doubt,
and when we remember that one of our famous judges, not long ago,
traced most of the terrible wife-murders, not to the drunkenness of
the husbands, but to the drunkenness of the wives, who had made their
homes so wretched that their husbands were aggravated into committing
the crime; when we remember further that, from all sides, there comes
evidence that, however successful our other efforts are in the
temperance cause, drunkenness is increasing amongst a certain class of
the population, and that this is more or less traceable to the
grocers' licences, we shall conclude that we are bound to try and do
something to remove this special cause of temptation from the homes of
our brothers and sisters. Not long ago, I was taking part in a mission
in a town some distance from Torquay, and, in a very poor
neighbourhood, I met the wife of an artisan coming out of one of the
grocer's shops. She had a basket upon her arm, and in it were the
usual groceries. The woman allowed me to look into the basket, and
there underneath all was the unmistakable bottle of spirits. I went
into the shop under the pretence of getting change for a sovereign,
and during the short time I was there, six or eight women came in and
purchased spirits."
"Between ourselves," I whispered to my neighbour, "it would have been
more generous of the very reverend gentleman, if he had made a little
purchase of the grocer he was getting up evidence against, instead of
asking him for a favour."
I continued to lend an attentive ear.
"In a railway station refreshment room, before half-past nine in the
morning, the following scene passed before my eyes:--Three very
respectably-dressed good-looking shop girls, evidently going out for a
holiday, went straight to the bar and ordered, in the most unblushing
way, a glass of bitter beer. Shortly afterwards, a fourth girl joined
them, and she as unblushingly asked for three pennyworth of spirits,
which she drank on the spot.... Not long ago, in this very town, I was
in a well-known refreshment shop, and whilst I was there, a lady,
respectable in appearance, with a child by her side, and a carriage
waiting outside to take her home, consumed no less than three glasses
of sherry one after the other. This was utterly unnecessary in the
middle of the day, and it was probably unknown to the lady's
husband.... You will help us, I am convinced, to put a stop to this
state of things; you will sign the petition we are about to send to
Parliament, and in which we ask our representatives to remove a very
great cause of temptation from the homes of many of our brethren by
withdrawing the grocers' licences."
The Archdeacon was followed on the platform by some ladies, who gave
the audience the benefit of their own experiences with regard to the
drunken habits of Englishwomen; after which the hymn, "To the work,"
was sung; for if, in France, everything ends in songs, in England
everything ends in hymns.
"Why," I said to my spinster friend, "there is no common sense in all
this. What! no more arguments than that! Because a few women have been
to buy a little brandy of their grocer, with the most innocent
intention perhaps, you are going to ask Parliament to prevent free and
honest citizens, who object to going to the public-house, from getting
a bottle of wine with their groceries. It is absurd."
----"Not at all," she replied; "I have been drinking nothing but water
for forty years and more, and the day we all become water drinkers, we
shall be a holy nation."
----"A nation of lunatics," thought I; and getting out of this
atmosphere as quickly as I could I jumped into a cab and drove to the
station. As I alighted, I noticed that my cabby had a bit of yellow
ribbon in his buttonhole.
"Hallo!" I said to him, "what decoration do you call that?"
----"Ah! you have been with the water drinkers, to the Blue Ribbon
meeting, sir; I belong to the Yellow Ribbon Army, I do."
----"Indeed," cried I; "and what do they do in the Yellow Ribbon
Army?"
----"Why," he answered; "you eats what you like, and you drinks what
you like, and you don't care a damn for nobody."
By Jove! it was quite a treat to see a _man_ again after having
passed the evening with such a lot of old women.
"Here, old fellow," said I to this free-born Briton, who had one of
those good open faces such as you see so often in Devonshire, "take
this, and go and drink my health;" and I turned away to the ticket
office, reconciled with mankind.[8]
[8] I know a clergyman who has just been obliged to give up an
excellent living, for having refused to comply with the request
of the squire of the neighbourhood, that he should adorn himself
with that certificate of stupidity, that decoration of reformed
drunkards, the Blue Ribbon.
The clergyman is a simpleton. To get or keep a good living, I
would not hesitate to put a piece of blue ribbon in my
buttonhole: it is so easy to put it in one's pocket, while one
takes a glass of grog or generous Bordeaux.
XVIII.
New Salvation Agencies--Priestess Rubbers--_Asinus asinam fricat_.
Whitaker's Almanack for 1884 announces sixteen new religious sects or
associations certified to the Registrar-General.
To my great regret, I notice the disappearance of the Rational
Christians. This leaves a net gain of fifteen associations: a very
respectable figure, it must be admitted. Here are the names of the
sixteen new sects or associations in question:--
Children's Special Service Association;
Christian Soldiers;
Church Army;
Church of England (unattached);
Free Salvation Army;
Gospel Army Mission;
Gospel Band;
Israel, New and Latter House of Jews;
King's Own Army;
Latter-Day Saints;
Members of the Church of England;
Methodist Army;
Mission Army;
Pilgrim Band;
Positivists;
Young Women's Christian Association.
Do not be surprised, if before long you see, figuring on the list of
new religious sects, the Materialists and the Atheists or
Bradlaughites. I say _religious sects_, for in this country, even the
Atheist raises his unbelief to the dignity of a religion, and builds,
or rather gets built--which is more intelligent--a little conventicle
of his own.
In France, religion is a monopoly; in England, it is a race, a
steeple-chase.
In France, a new idea, a theory that sees the light and meets with
success, is the foundation of a new school; in England, the foundation
of a new church.
You will soon hear also of a sect that will be immensely popular, I do
not doubt: it is the sect of the Rubbers, or to give them a more
technical name, the _Frictionary Christians_. That it is of American
importation, it is scarcely needful to add. This is what the English
papers of the 5th February, 1884, say on the subject:--"A writer in
the _Boston Advertiser_ (U.S.) of January 18th, gives an account of
what he considers to be a new development of a very common form of
hysteria. This new development is the latest doctrine of a sect
founded some years ago in Park Street, Boston, under the name of
Christian Scientists; the meeting being attended by devout if not
strictly philosophical or scientific ladies. The new doctrine is this:
Matter in itself, they say, is inert, insensate, lifeless, and
unpotential; the power which animates matter is divine. Illness is
want of vital power, therefore want of divinity. A mind healer is a
person who is full to superabundance upon his own cognizance of the
Almighty, and who is willing to allow his, or more generally her,
superfluity or abundance to overflow into the person of some patient
in whom it is declared the presence of disease proves the absence of
the Lord. The process is of the simplest. The healer sits down with
her back in contact with the corresponding portion of the patient's
person, and for the moderate price of a dollar an hour allows the
supposed divine influence to filter from vertebræ to vertebræ."
Now this is what I call easy and convenient, and I might even add,
most pleasant; you rub and rub until your salvation is an accomplished
fact. If your priestess is a nice smooth-backed plump young woman,
the operation cannot fail to be pleasant as well as novel.
As you see, it is the embrocation of salvation, and nothing more.
Success warranted after a few applications.
If the Rubbers are in search of a motto or a trade-mark, I would
suggest: _Asinus asinam fricat._
XIX.
THE VICAR'S WIFE.
Fragments.
I.
The Reverend Bartholomew Goodman, vicar of E... was the only
representative of orthodoxy in that pretty little town of Devonshire.
Though rheumatic, this salaried believer in apostolic succession was,
correctly speaking, neither saint nor martyr. He had a wife and
children, and, one year with another, his living brought him in about
five hundred pounds.